


to love and say goodbye

by behzaintfunny



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV First Person, Past Character Death, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Under the cover of night, the ranger and the warrior meet anew for various fleeting moments.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	to love and say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, this is my first LOTR fic. I have no idea how that came to be, since I have been in the fandom for the better part of my life. Alas, here it is.
> 
> Keep in mind that comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!

I look unto the passing wind and hear in the midst of it his honey-sweet voice, charred with the raspiness of dawn, but no less mighty than ever I knew it in life.

I feel its touch on the high of my cheeks and find myself pondering whether the same wind doth blow wherever he may dwell. It feels only right that he may still bask in life as he once knew it, I hope, but at the core of my mind know that is not where death leads one, not even one such as him.

Like the most masterful music, the wind sings to me tales of Boromir, the fair.

"What news?" I ask in all but a quiet whisper, as I watch the leaves rumble with the power of the morning breeze, "What news from the south, o' swaying wind?"

I ask, but know at the core of my heart I may never hope for an answer.

Still, without fault do I find my gaze faltering to the edge of the forest whenever I wake, searching for something I may never truly be able to find. I search for him in the passing river, knowing it has been long since she took him in her embrace for all eternity. My grief eats away at the very core of my being and I know naught but to endure it like he would once endure even the worst pain.

Betwixt the tall trees, he comes to me at night, a shadow that haunts me so, a long lost lover who wishes for naught else but to reconcile. Tall like the trees themselves, he stands before me, the perfect picture of a man I used to know and love, and he fills me with such hope I never dared otherwise deem imaginable.

The stars compare naught to the sheen that glistens within him, the bright spark that constitutes his soul; I wonder how come not even in death did it cease to be.

He comes to me at my most vulnerable state, unmaimed and perfect, as though the cruelties of life have never touched him. I know better than to believe his folly disguise, however blissful it may be to look upon, for I have seen him at his worst and may never know him otherwise again.

Still, he comes to me untouched, pure, with kind eyes whose uncanny warmth I never wish to forget.

"Why do you haunt me so?" I ask him one night, fiddling with my hands where they lay in my lap, feeling unease settling deep within my heart, "May I never again be free of you?"

He doesn't answer me at first, only laughs, brisk and quiet as it may be, the closest in months that I have felt to home.

"Our fates are interwoven, ranger." he tells me, and I find myself watching the words as they escape his lips, untouched like the rest of him, not bruised and ravished like I wish them to be, "Ask not of me why I haunt you so, but rather why you continue to greet me come each passing dawn. Is it I that haunts you, or you, me?"

I find myself at a loss of words, and the trees speak for me in murmurs of quiet whispers I cannot seem to understand. I wish my legs to stand abrupt, for I want to come closer to him, but they listen naught to my heart's most feverent wishes.

So I watch, quiet and terrified, for I never know whether he will be there after I close my eyes again.

"Why does the sun rise from the horizon with each coming morrow?" I whisper as he comes before me, is almost within arms' reach, and yet painfully far away, "Do you truly need to hear it from me?"

He smiles, sweet as the day he was born, mine like the day I lost him.

"The dead do not easily forget." he says, and his hand lies on the side of my face, cupping it gently enough to feel as though it is truly real, "It is not sorrow I wish to bring, dearest, but closure. It pains me to not walk by your side, so if this is the closest I shall ever get to it again, then by the grace of the Valar I shall haunt you until your last dying breath, if you'll have me."

I lean into his touch, feather-light as it may be, wishing desperately for him to stay just a little longer.

"A day has not passed where my mind wasn't corrupt with the thought of you." I tell him, and my eyes meet his, "I will have you always, in life and in death, or I will not have you at all. Haunt me, my love. Come to me always so that I may never again know life without you. Walk with me. Be the strength I need to go on."

He smiles at me sweetly then, as real as I remember him, and just as fond. I find myself wondering whether I ever didn't feel for him in the first place; it seems unlikely so, in the core of my heart, that my ears should not know the merry sound of his voice.

"Why must you tarry?" I ask him that night, biting down on a gasp when my hand falls upon his where it cups my face, "Is it I that makes you cling onto this world so?"

"I'm afraid I am simply lost." he tells me, and a warmth resonates from deep within him. I cling onto him like it is the only thing I know. "I may need your help to find my way. 'Tis a dark world, Aragorn, and the path before me unclear."

I chuckle, the hollow sound reverberating in the cold, dark forest deep. I feel his eyes upon me, his hand embracing mine, his scent filling my lungs.

I want desperately to make him stay, but I do not know how.

"I know naught of how to help you." I tell him from the bottom of my heart, "I know how to mend the woes of the living, not that of the dead. It is beyond me how you may be able to find your peace, if that day shall ever come."

"Then we shall wait, Aragorn." he says, his voice unwavering and full of confidence I cannot relate to for the life of me, "Come night again, I will be by your side, until the time comes when you take my hand in yours and lead me where we haven't dared go before. Grieve not for me but await my arrival, for I will console you always, so that you may never truly again be alone."

He disappears with the first breeze of wind, and though I find myself looking around for him anew, all there is are the trees of the mighty forest towering above me.

They know naught of Boromir and his soft touch unto my skin; they may never even learn the sound of his voice.

Underneath the moonlit sky, I weep; the palms of my hands tingle with the salty pang of my tears. Careless for the trivialties of the world, I am alone with the forest which may soon turn to amber and gold, as I shall one day turn into ashes.

I pull on my gauntlets out of instinct, feeling my skin burn underneath their embrace, but under no circumstances do I imagine myself ever taking them off.

He sees right through me, I figure. I may never hide from him again, for he knows me from the inside out, has seen before his very eyes the extent of the love I bear for him. It terrifies me, but there is no one with whom I can share such a burden.

My feet lead me into the depths of the forest before my mind can take the better of me. There, I search for him, endlessly and tirelessly, until the soles of my feet send countless sparks of pain that resonate deep within my bones. It compares naught to the pain I feel from his loss, one that does not appear to subside with time, that may never truly let me be.

The golden Rauros falls took his body, but it is I that carries his heart with me, kind and bold as he was in life, in death all the same.

During my search, I come accross his shadow, distant and far away, but I never seem to be able to reach him in time. I hear his horn in the breeze of the wind, one blow after another, but it always reaches me a beat too late. I fail him, time after time, even now that he is no more.

Come each morning, I find naught of Boromir, only the glimmering of sunlight through the lush green forest.

The only thing keeping me forth is the desperation to succeed on my quest, to for all prove that not all hope is lost, and to see him again. Though the path goes hardly south, I keep in my thoughts that I may yet carry the news of his death to his family - his brother, fair as the sheen of the morning sun. I wonder oftentimes whether he sees him as I do, but I know better than to ask.

(It somehow doesn't feel right, to think of him in his adolescent days, untouched by war and pain, a hero to his brother and his brother alone. In my dreams, I see a warrior standing tall on the walls of Osgiliath, carrying the white flag with a manic grin and sending hope to all humanity.

It never failed to amaze me how greatly he resembled my ancestors, though no blood linked them, for a born leader he was and deserved all devotion.

I always wake prematurely from such dreams, for it feels yet too painful to see that part of his life; one which wasn't me, one which still yet had true happiness.)

In the shadows of night, in the morning breeze; wherever it may be, it is Boromir whom my heart calls to.

Sleep never found me much, but in the nearest months it had been nearly impossible for me to find rest. I know better than to fear an attack for I am not alone, but still my eyes never close, and my hand never leaves the hilt of my sword.

He comes to me then, face clad with worry, and I find myself surrendering to him yet again with the greatest ease.

He finds me in my weakest, docile like a newborn kitten, and just as desperate to feel loved. I surrender to his touch like a flower opening in blossom, desperately craving the sunlight's sweet touch.

He unravels me with hands gentle like rose petals, cautious as though I could cease to be with one mistaken touch. Folly it is, and drives me mad, for I want nothing more in life at that very moment than for him to ruin me whole.

How curious that you may crush a rose in your palm and it still bleeds for you.

Tentative hands roam down my body as I yield before him, for I could never shy away from his touch. I welcome it like the first flowers in spring after a long, cold winter.

Call to him I do not, afraid to break the spell, but my lips open in the shape of his name all the same, like a cry or a prayer unspoken.

During the many hours of day I spend afoot, it occurs to me how much he deserved a proper burial, to be buried in the hall of kings alongside all who came before him. Maybe some calm hill covered in sunlight, with a gentle rivulet.

Maybe then he would know peace.

Songs, it dawns upon me, are but mere attempts for men to explain things of such beauty they cannot simply comprehend. Terrible is the fluttering in my stomach when I realize that is exactly what I feel whenever I look upon him; how not even the poets of Valinor could have known the right words to describe him.

Still, I sing to him, and the forest sings his lament with me, carrying the song to wherever he may dwell.

Contrary to what we liked to believe, we were always men of few words. Actions, however, I noticed speak louder than all words do, even in something so simple like scrambles of stolen touches or all too desperate embraces.

I think, I may never grow tired of him, for it is he that brings out all the best in me; all which is noble and just, and yet all which is human.

He never comes when I need him most, and though it pains me greatly, I still anticipate the next time I see him like one anticipates the first days of summer.

And as we reach closer and closer to Helm's Deep and humanity's demise, he stands before me, tall and fair on the keep's walls, and I know with utmost certainty I was not going to die tonight.

I seek him out in the cold of night, watching a distant moon past the hills towering above the keep, praying indeed that he hears my desperate call.

"Fight with me, beloved." I call to him, dropping to my knees before the keep's edge, "Stay with me so that we may again see the sunlight."

Perfect silence answers me, engulfs me like the cold waters of Rauros falls.

Then the wind blows, calm unlike the hearts of the men, brushing away the tears as they dwell in the corners of my eyes. Instictively, I touch upon my vambraces, fixing them to rest more snugly against my arms, and look unto the starlit sky.

"Fight beside me so that I may see you again someday, by the grace of the Valar, but it is not tonight that I shall join you."

I whisper into the black sky, a quiet prayer, as my eyes close to a dreamless sleep.

I am the sword that fights for him and he is the shield that protects me; we are neither of us whole alone. He fills my heart with courage, for I know better than to fear death when death itself is fighing right by my side. I carry the blade but he wields it; together, we are invincible.

The rain falls upon the keep like the waves of the enemy forces, and just as spiteful, but it is not fear that pulsates within me.

When we survive the night, it feels like ecstasy; like a climax to a most unexpected dream.

Come morning again, I see naught of Boromir, the bold, but I carry the memory of him with me even through the darkest of times. He walks beside me and I feel in the depths of my heart that together we may yet overcome the worst of it.

South and south the road doth go, and dark it gets at times, but I find I do not fear the darkness anymore, for I know a better tomorrow will come.

I see him not, but he whispers to me in the warm morning breeze and the glimmering sunlight, as I whisper unto him my undying love, ripe like the sweetest peaches.


End file.
